


burning bright

by viciouskind



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, M/M, Praise Kink, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciouskind/pseuds/viciouskind
Summary: jesse's burning and folks are flammable - a self-indulgent and unpleasant look at how mccree and reyes might come together





	1. Deadlock

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh this fic is an exercise in writing again, but please be warned that it's self-indulgent in the worst way and this will not be good for mccree
> 
> the first chapter is pre-blackwatch jesse, but reyes will show up in the next chapter and the perspective will shift

\------------------------------  
Jesse McCree, age 15  
\------------------------------

Jesse was having a good day. Old man Warner left four plastic-wrapped sandwiches on the sill for him, and a crate full of empty bottles below it. He carried the crate under one arm, chewing thoughtfully at one of the sandwiches as he scuffed his boots along the hard beaten path from the ranch to the canyons behind it. The sun was beginning to beat down on him, but he’s shielded by the brim of his hat and the serape around his shoulders so he pays it no mind. 

He hummed to himself while he set up six bottles for target practice, his gangly legs carrying him through an approximation of a swagger. He fires six shots and six bottles shatter, but he isn’t done. Outright whistling now, he grabs a bottle by its neck and flings it high in the air. Peacekeeper follows the smooth arc of the glass and he pulls the trigger just as it reaches its apex.

“I’m on fire!” he crows, tipping his too-large hat back to watch the glass rain down. 

He busies himself setting up six more bottles, whistling and tapping his foot along. 

Once the bottles are in place, Jesse takes a half-step back, grinning at his glinting targets. He schools the grin down, forcing a comically serious expression as he tipped the brim of his hat back in place before turning his back to his targets. He saunters forward ten paces, the serape he’s drowning in flapping around him as he moves. He stands stock still for a split second before turning on his heel and drawing his gun - he fans the hammer and fills the canyon with the sound of gunfire and breaking glass.

For a long second Jesse just stares at where the bottles used to be, a slow, stunned smile spreading over his face. He’s halfway to jumping in the air when loud clapping cuts across the canyon. Jesse startles so badly he falls on his ass turning towards the sound.

“Hoooooly shit, you sure can shoot, kid.”

Jesse scrambles to his feet, clutching Peacekeeper tight as he squints over at the approaching figure. It’s a boy maybe a year or two older than him, striding through the shimmering heat.

The boy walks straight into Jesse’s space, seemingly unbothered about the way he’s still gripping his gun tight. When he stops in front of him, he hooks his thumb in his belt, the skull on the buckle blazing in the sun. He offers his hand, grinning sharply.

“Name’s Danny Guerrero.”

\-------------------------------  
Jesse McCree, age 17  
\-------------------------------

The AC is busted and they’re both sweating. Jesse should be used to it, but he feels like he’s burning up. The older boy looming so close above him isn’t helping either. Danny’s got his hand pressing down hard on Jesse’s chest, smoothing out the transfer paper.  
“Quit squirmin’, I ain’t even started yet.” Danny grouses, but when he peels back the paper he gives a satisfied grunt. 

The older boy traces a light finger over the image, a flaming winged skull biting down on a lock. The touch follows the outline of the wingtips over his collarbones, down to the the lock resting over his sternum. The heat Jesse was feeling under his gaze flares mercilessly when Danny flicks one of his nipples just to watch him jump, hissing out a held breath.

Danny gives a mean little laugh before ruffling Jesse’s hair, seeming pleased with himself and heartily amused by the angry flush spreading down from Jesse’s cheeks to his chest.

“You’re so sensitive, kid. You’re not gonna try to quit on me halfway through, are you?”

When he looks back up, he must see something nervous in Jesse’s gaze because he softens just slightly. He presses a bottle into Jesse’s hand, and nods with approval when Jesse obediently gulps down several mouthfuls of whiskey.

“That’s it. You’re a tough son of a bitch, you can take this, can’t you?” Danny’s voice dips deeper, and the brief squeeze he gives Jesse’s shoulder is brotherly, but the grip he has on his hip is not, Jesse thinks. It’s tight enough to hurt, but he’s running his thumb over the hard jut of bone as he adjusts Jesse’s position on the seat.

Jesse lets himself be moved, and if he arches into the touch neither of them say anything. Danny’s been looking at him with weird intensity since he agreed to this, and maybe it’s the single swinging lightbulb overhead in the little dark room but Jesse swears it’s getting worse.

The buzzing of the needle doesn’t bother Jesse, and the feeling of it dragging against his skin isn’t nearly as bad as he thought. For the first hour he barely feels it, grounded by the insistent heat and slow, soothing movements of Danny’s hand over his stomach.

It isn’t until Danny starts going over some of the lines again that Jesse wants it to stop - it hurts, it’s too much. But everytime he thinks he can’t take it anymore, Danny meets his gaze and touches his stomach, his hip, or his hair softly and murmurs something to him.

Danny had a nice voice, but it’d never sounded sweeter that when he tells him how good he’s doing, how proud he is, and Jesse feels hot all over and the burning of his chest doesn’t feel so bad. He’d blame the whiskey, but the heat pooling in him is further south than it has a right to be.

He makes it through the session without stopping, and Danny rewards him with his first kiss - his fingers gripped tight in Jesse’s hair, losing himself in the heat.

\------------------------------  
Jesse McCree, age 18  
\------------------------------

Jesse sucks in a shuddering breath as soon as Danny’s hand leaves his neck. He’s panting harshly, but still manages to moan as Danny slides out of him, still sensitive. 

He watches Danny through half-lidded eyes as he tugs his clothes back on, too dazed to do anything about the ache in his wrists and the burn of his arms stretched taut above his head - not that he could do anything about it even if he wanted to.

A shrill beep calls out from the beat-up data pad on the makeshift nightstand beside the mattress. Danny pads over to read the message, frowns, and then looks over at Jesse as if remembering he’s there.

“We gotta go.” he grunts, rolling his eyes at the lazy unfocused grin Jesse gives him when he straddles him and reaches for his wrists.

“Don’t have time for round two, pendejo.” he shoves a hand down on Jesse’s chest when he tries to get up, fingers splayed over the tattoo he’d given him. It’d aged well over the years, despite the poor quality of the ink and how much time Jesse spent in the sun. 

Danny releases his wrists from the belt binding them, but before Jesse can start rubbing the feeling back into them, Danny feeds one of his arms through the belt and draws it tight.

Jesse hisses in pain, brows furrowing as he tries half-heartedly to tug his arm away.

“Aww, c’mon, Danny,” he whines, “Can’t we wait until my heart rates goes down a bit? Ain’t no use dead of heart attack.”

“We need you sharp, kid. It’s your big day - you remember the signal?” His hand strokes heavy down his arm, resting it on his leg while he readies the needle.

Jesse glows under the praise, and nods, pantomiming flicking a lighter,

“Jefe lights a cigarette, and bang, bang, bang-” he supplies, forming a gun with the fingers of his free hand and grinning.

“That’s right. I can’t believe those dumbasses think we wanna make a deal with ‘em. Three months of pushing in on 66 like we weren’t gonna fucking kill ‘em for it. ” Danny growls, evidently taking the new gang’s bravado as a personal insult.

Preparations finished, Danny finds a vein in Jesse’s arm with practiced ease. A drop of blood wells up in the needle’s wake, and he wipes it away with the hem of his shirt. More blood follows, and Danny frowns and grabs a bottle from the nightstand. He splashes whiskey in the crook of Jesse’s elbow, figuring a couple of the other injection sites looked a little redder than they’d ought to anyway.

Danny must be able to feel Jesse’s eyes on him, because he looks up just in time to watch his pupils dilate. Jesse knows Danny loves this part, and he puts on a show, tilting up his chin so Danny can watch his pulse jump in his neck underneath the layers of bruises he put there, parting his lips with a breathy gasp as his chest starts to rise and fall a little faster.

“Lookin’ good, cowboy.” Danny growls as he pulls Jesse to his feet.  
Jesse dresses quickly, catching the clothes thrown at him by his partner and pulling them on. He falls back onto the bed to tug on his boots, but gets vertigo when he stands again.

“Shit,” he breathes, grateful for Danny’s quick reflexes and the firm grip around his waist. He drops his head into the crook of Danny’s neck.

“You good?” Danny mutters into his hair, his big hand stroking down Jesse’s back.

“I’m good.” 

“Atta boy.”


	2. The Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> efficiency and kindness aren't mutually exclusive but don't tell reyes (he knows)

The Deadlock operation had not gone to plan.

Right after the Deadlock boss had lit a cigarette, three of his agents had dropped around him. Their intel hadn’t indicated that Deadlock had a sharpshooter, so their preparations had been focused on the claustrophobic close-quarters combat they now found themselves in outside the diner. The dust and smoke swirled around them, but Gabriel could hear the sounds of the gang starting to panic, and could just make out the forms of his still standing agents moving forward to take out the Deadlock leader and his lieutenants.

Gabriel moves to cover and scans the area around him - the three downed agents don’t look like they were moving and he suspects the worst.

He taps a finger to his communicator, “Shots came from behind. Who’s got eyes on the shooter?” he barks, squinting through the haze.

“Commander, we have them trapped in the southwest quadrant.” came Freeman’s reply.

“Good, keep them there. Main targets are down, standing orders are to capture or kill all runners.” he paused, looking down again at the still forms by his feet.

Definitely dead. R&D had provided discrete bulletproof jackets, but there hadn’t been a viable solution for protective headgear that wouldn’t have given them away. Gabriel drags a calloused hand down his face - they weren’t supposed to have a sniper. He crouches down next to the nearest body, Peterson. He’s been shot in the head, and a quick glance confirms the same for Ramirez and Thompson. Something’s off about the entry and exit wounds - they’re not the size he’d expect from a sniper rifle but his examination is cut short by his comms.

“Commander, requesting backup.”

“Copy that - on my way.”

* * *

 

Gabriel is going to recruit him.

The ballistics from the op had come back and confirmed what he’d known - the kid had gotten three consecutive headshots at 300 yards with a fucking revolver.

He’s striding swiftly down the hallway towards interrogation, personnel jumping out of his way as he mentally irons out the details of his latest acquisition. He’d have to get Jack to approve it, but he could handle Jack. The Deadlock op had been a joint task force, and it wouldn’t go over well that he’d killed Overwatch agents. Still, he wanted the kid for Blackwatch, and his team wouldn’t question his judgement.

The kid would be the hardest part - it will take a careful hand to untangle the boy’s loyalty and rein him in, but Gabriel’s up for the challenge.

* * *

 

The interrogation went better than Gabriel had dared to hope.

The kid had been near-dangerously high on amphetamines when they’d brought him in, and it’d made it all too easy to manipulate him. When the kid was still high, he pushed and pushed, making him furious and paranoid.

_“You’re right handed, but most of the track marks are on your right arm. Did your boyfriend dose you up just for work, or did he get you high when he wanted to fuck you too?”_

The kid’s loyalty held fine through that, no matter the pressure Gabriel put on it, but he’d expected that - he’d seen the kid move to take a bullet for the boy they brought him in with.

The part where Gabriel almost couldn’t believe his luck came later, when Freeman was interviewing the other boy.

_"Jesse? He’s not my boyfriend, is - is that what he told you? We kept him around because he does as he’s told and can do a few tricks with a gun; I kept him around because he can do a few more with his mouth.”_

The other boy’s contempt came through loud and clear on the recording he’d gotten to play for the kid - of course, he’d waited until the kid had crashed and was drowning in the come-down for maximum effect.

When it became clear the kid was just going to keep staring blankly into mid-distance, Gabriel excused himself and signed off on moving the kid to the med bay to detox. He paused, then added a few more notes.

        >> Suicide watch. No sedatives or painkillers without authorization. 

The kid had looked more upset than he’d calculated, but he could work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the short chapter, but the next one should be out soon


End file.
